Rejtett mezők
Könyvek 
" hymn ! in swarming cities vast, Assembled men to the deep organ join T "
A Library of Poetry and Song: Being Choice Selections from the Best Poets - 297. oldal
Szerkesztette: - 1874 - 789 oldal
Teljes nézet - Információ erről a könyvről

The Quarterly Review, 69. kötet

William Gifford, Sir John Taylor Coleridge, John Gibson Lockhart, Whitwell Elwin, William Macpherson, William Smith, Sir John Murray IV, Rowland Edmund Prothero (Baron Ernle) - 1842 - 578 oldal
...we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that hares her bosom to the moon ; The winds that will be howling...at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be...

The Miscellaneous Poems of William Wordsworth, 3. kötet

William Wordsworth - 1820 - 362 oldal
...soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that...at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather...

The Indicator, 1. kötet

Leigh Hunt - 1820 - 432 oldal
...is ours : This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! ; The Winds that will be howling at all hours, And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be...

Select British Poets, Or, New Elegant Extracts from Chaucer to the Present ...

William Hazlitt - 1824 - 1062 oldal
...waste our powers : Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon 1 above thy sphere; Till pride and worse ambition threw...Heav'n against Heav'n's matchless King Ah wherefore flowers; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not.—Great God ! I'd rather be...

The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, 2. kötet

William Wordsworth - 1827 - 412 oldal
...soon, Setting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; iVe have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that...moon ; The Winds that will be howling at all hours, &.nd are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; It...

Specimens of the Lyrical, Descriptive, and Narrative Poets of Great Britain ...

John Johnstone (of Edinburgh.) - 1828 - 600 oldal
...soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that...at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be...

The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth - 1828 - 372 oldal
...spending, we lay w.iste our powers : Little we sec in Nature that is ours; We hate given our heart» away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that bares her bosom...The Winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-fathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for every thing, ve are out of tune; It moves us not.—Great...

The British poets of the nineteenth century, including the select works of ...

British poets - 1828 - 838 oldal
...willing to he reconciled: О gentle Creature! do not nee me 10, But once and deeply let me be beguiled. The Winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping III. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely рам by, Une after one ; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring;...

Specimens of English Sonnets

1833 - 246 oldal
...we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid hoon ! This Sea that hares her bosom to the moon ; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers ; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; It moves us...

Faustus, a Dramatic Mystery: The Bride of Corinth; The First Walpurgis Night

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - 1835 - 556 oldal
...Goethe. Schiller's lines are little more than an amplification of Wordsworth's noble sonnet: — We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that...at all hours, And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers; — For this, for every thing, we are out of tune : It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather...




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